#“siggy you know better!!!”

[tragedia]

thinking of perhaps adding my tabletop dnd characters to the roster, which includes: mei, a half-elven bard / sorcerer who's a seer; echo, air genasi druid who's a banished princess; and siggy, a wood elf oathbreaker paladin who's a vampire spawn right now.

[wraithdance]

The Five Year Plan | Gaz x Reader

Synopsis: When your fiancé breaks up with you, you start to question your timeline; who needs a man when you can have a baby yourself? Who better to ask for help on creating one than your arch-nemesis Kyle Garrick?

Note: F!Reader, Fat/Plus sized Reader, Reader is implied to be Black but can be read as WoC, Readers nickname is 'Siggy', there will be no y/n use Content warning: none; besides a terrible grasp of british-isms

Chapter One: Piss off Kyle

It was while sitting beneath the awning of your favorite bistro that you’d come to a great realization. Hugo Montclair, your fiance of three years, was not just a bore but a bit of a jackass. 

Also, the lavender cake was no longer listed on Le Misa’s menu. So, technically two great realizations. As bad as it sounded, one concerned you more than the other.

Squinting you give the laminated sheet another thorough read to confirm your suspicions and… ah, yes. It’s not there. Where it should be between the ladies fingers and the lemon cake is an empty, discolored space. 

With a manicured finger you chip away at the corners to reveal the sloping letter ‘L’ beneath the meticulously placed correction tape. 

This was no good.

“Siggy, darling have you heard a word I said?”

You hum in reply, still deeply baffled with the current conundrum. Hugo calls your name again, not satisfied until you’ve given him your attention. 

He leans his head down to be in your line of sight. He’s a bit too blonde and polished for you not to focus your attention on. Like a shiny beacon. You try not to sigh deeply and instead plaster on a smile. 

“Yes, I heard you darling, you want to break up because you’re seeing Maddie from downstairs.”

Hugo extends his dainty manicured hands across the small table to cover yours above the menu. 

“I’m so sorry, I never wanted to hurt you this way.”

His eyes are carefully soft and his expression does that awkward stretch people do when attempting to project a facsimile of contriteness. In this case it just makes the skin around his mouth pucker oddly, displacing the filler he swears he gets for preventive measures.

You pat his hand politely with a smile “It’s fine, Hugo, really. Do you think I can borrow your menu? I think there's been a bit of a mistake.”

You are sliding the paper to your side of the table before you can finish the sentence. Hugo is a bit taken aback and blanches.

Another sweeping glance at Hugo’s menu reveals much of the same. 

There’s no lavender cake.

“Look, I know this is hard to take in but I want us to try to at least be amicable. We’ve been together for years and your parents and friends adore me.”

At this you snort but quickly cover it with a cough. Your parents tolerated him at best and your friends had made it well known they disapproved of Hugo. (Something about being a posh chihuahua enamored with its own self importance.)

You frown thinking of the dramatics his mother would put on inevitably, so sure you’d ruined the engagement to her son on purpose. 

But really what could you do? 

It wasn’t the most convenient thing to have your boss's beloved son kick you to the metaphorical curb, but technically you were the one who had been cheated on. Totally not your fault this time!

“I said I got it, you can’t help who you love and etcetera.” You give a cluck of your tongue before looking up once more hoping to catch the circling barista's eye. 

The mid afternoon lunch crowd at Le Misa’s is blessedly tame for a Thursday. The gloomy weather outside makes it easier to spot the jittery teen in a crimson red apron. The poor girl is glued to a corner, hunched over and clutching a notepad in white knuckle grip. 

She sees you shift in her periphery and snaps terrified eyes to your half raised arm. You do your best to smile sans teeth as you wave her over, coaxing her closer with small fluid movements. 

You hope you’re projecting calming vibes because she looks a bit green around the gills from the very thought of being needed by a customer. 

When she’s meters from your table you lean forward, your tits and belly squash a bit over the table causing your empty saucer to clatter before settling. Hugo, despite his offended chittering, stops long enough to stare at your chest. With a roll of your eyes you ignore his open panting. Typical.

“Hi darling,” you chirp in an octave higher than your usual. “I just had a quick question about the cakes? There used to be a lavender one here, I’ve been ordering it for years. Can you tell me what happened to it?”

“Um w-well.” The trembling girl blinks are twitchy and rapid, sputtering out um’s and oh’s.

‘Oh, no’ you think to yourself. 

You might have broken her. Still, you nod your head in support waiting for her to gather her wits. The poor thing was obviously a new employ with a bitch of a case of social anxiety.

Your efforts are for nothing in the end because a loud clearing throat causes you both to freeze, just as it’s seem she’d gotten up her courage.

Your cheek ticks as you watch the skittish girl clam up again. Hugo’s gaze has pried off your cleavage long enough to laser something disapproving and pointed at the side of your forehead. 

He’s even doing that thing with his face that you’ve always hated. His cheeks suck in like a goldfish and he does the eyebrow raise and head cock that screams ‘I am very displeased.’

“What? I just need to ask her something. I'll be just a sec.”

Hugo’s frown only deepens and he lets out the most dramatic sigh you’ve ever heard from a thirty two year old man.

It causes you to roll your eyes. Really, why couldn’t he just break up with you through text? This whole kerfuffle was starting to drag on and ruin your already limited lunch hour.

What happened to just saying ‘it’s not you, it’s me?’ or ghosting like a normal person? 

You give the hovering teenager a tight smile and lift a single manicured finger to signify the need for a moment. She scurries back into the safety of the French doors into the cafe's interior before your hand has a chance to lower.

“Hugo darling,” Your tone is careful, neutral like the one you use to disarm your irate clients. 

“I’m really not upset I promise, we’d barely begun planning the wedding and we never got around to moving in with each other. Really there’s no harm-”

“She's pregnant.” he blurts out suddenly. 

A record scratches in your brain because, “What?”

Hugo grimaces. “She’s about three months pregnant. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

One blink. Two… before you’re sure there wasn’t a punchline coming. 

“Are you taking the piss right now?”

“Sweetheart,” His hands raise in defense “don’t get upset-”

“Oh what the actual FUCK Hugo? You told me you wanted to wait until marriage before considering children!” Your hiss is low and dark. 

More than a small part of you is satisfied with his flinch back to avoid your venom. You're slightly aware of the scene you’re causing but really! The man had kept his sperm under lock and key like his swimmers were precious jewels!

It’s the one thing he’d put his foot down about, content to let you drive the relationship otherwise.

‘I have to be considerate of my legacy as a Montclair, Siggy.’

‘We can talk about it after the wedding, Siggy.’ 

You didn’t understand the hang up because the Montclair clan were as distant from the crown as you were to Beyoncé! Still he’d been adamant about not having a child out of wedlock. 

You’re not very kind about reminding him of the fact either.

“I did mean that, I swear,” he ruffles his coiffed blonde hair, the pomade holding firm but is no match for the havoc his slender fingers trail. “It just happened and Madelyn and I decided it was a good thing.”

He huffs “I mean let’s be realistic Siggy, she’s different from you. She’s a bit more equipped to take care of a child than you are.”

Oh ho! Now that was rich. You were chomping at the bit to hear how the barely legal heiress was better equipped to birth a baby than you were!

“How so!” Your tone is one translating the utmost disbelief and sarcasm. 

Hugo waves a hand in the air, it’s so dismissive and you consider punching him in the nose for it. “She’s just much more flexible.” 

Well ouch?

There’s a Rolodex of adjectives your litany of exes used to describe you before they dumped you. 

Uptight, strict, aloof, intense. ‘Heartless harpy who feeds on the souls of innocent men’. 

The last one came from a starving poet who’d been freeloading on your nice suede green couch before you'd kicked him and his lute out. How you managed to find the one man in London with dreams of being a modern day bard, who knows.

(You did admire his ways with words and his tongue was capable of art). It had admittedly stung a bit more than the others and you needed an extra hen session with the girls to unpack the resulting feels. 

Nonetheless, you’ve never been called inflexible. 

Matter of fact, you were pretty fucking flexible! Your Pilates teacher had crowed about it several times during class, thank you very much.  (Maybe he was just trying to get you to put out but still, a compliment was a compliment.)

Momentarily you consider if that was actually supposed to be a dig at your weight but Hugo frantically rambles on as if reading your mind. 

“I just mean that you work long hours at Mum’s firm and you’ve told me yourself you wouldn’t stop working even if you were pregnant.”

“So what!”

“So, that’s an awful way to raise a child Siggy! Madelyn works for herself and has the time to dedicate to a baby that you don’t.”

“Of course she has the time!” you cry out in exasperation, ignoring Hugo’s shushing. If he wanted you to react better he shouldn’t have dropped this bomb in public!

“She teaches yoga to the elderly in her perfect fucking apartment! I’ve been a barrister for all of 2 seconds and I can’t just give up my position!”

Hugo rolls his eyes with the dramatic flare only an aristocrat could pull off. “I’ve been trying to work on our relationship for months; you’ve blown me off every time saying you were working or there was a crisis with your friends.”

“I thought proposing would change things but…” The sad look does make some guilt well up into your veins. 

Hugo’s shoulder drop and his blue eyes are a bit misty. It makes your throat close with panic. Hugo was prone to sobbing and you really needed to intercept that train before it derailed.

“Hugo-”

“It doesn’t even feel like you like me sometimes!” He’s hiccuping and throwing his hands in the air in exasperation before you know it. 

Oh for fucks sake!

“It’s like you view me as more of a convenience than a partner. I’ve only ever seen you truly happy over coupons or work or cakes!”

Fat tears roll down his face and you’re handing him your linen napkin with a sigh. He thanks you and blows his nose loudly enough for other tables to glance your way. Wonderful.

When he composes himself you try to refute him.

“Hugo, that's not true, I like you,” His gives you a look of complete disbelief that sets you on the defense. “Really I do! I just…”

Your brows furrow as words evade you. You really wish he would have just broken up with you via text.

“I show it differently that’s all.” Your shoulders sag in defeat.

Hugo gives you a sad smile. It’s watery and his face is still a bit splotchy.

“But not like Madelyn does. Be honest, did you ever love me?”

You feel like an absolute bitch because you can’t answer him. After a while you both accept that it was about as much as you could say.

It’s only when you’re halfway to the office that you realize you never did get an answer about the cake.

Kyle Garrick had a radar for when you were about to make a fool of yourself. The man had somehow been privy to every embarrassing moment you’ve had in your shared building. You couldn’t prove it, but he had to have some kind of sixth sense for your personal humiliation. 

There was no other explanation because the entire six years you’d lived across from him, he was always conveniently near when shit went awry.

Like that time you locked yourself out wearing only a ratty towel when reaching for a parcel. His stupidly pretty face only twitched in amusement seeing you hunched over and dripping wet. 

You’d been attempting to jimmy the cheap lock with a stray paper clip you found discarded nearby. It hadn’t gone well, as you’d been more focused on trying to keep your tits and thighs within the thin, cotton fabric.

(They really should make towels for bigger girls more accessible, honestly it was ridiculous!)

It hadn’t been your finest moment but he could have had the decency to look away. Instead, he leaned his broad shoulder against his doorway, content to watch you struggle. 

You’d snapped at him asking what his problem was and his only reply was ‘nippy in here, isn’t it?’ 

He did eventually help you break into your flat, but only after you’d called him as many names as you could think of. He’d waited out your tantrum without as much of a twitch. He’d simply taken the paper clip from you and sank to the floor in front of the doorknob.

His big hands were surprisingly much more dexterous than yours. You’d never admit to the lump in your throat or the shudder starting at your toes while staring at the long brown digits.

It didn’t help that his whiskey colored eyes bore into yours with an unspoken question when you made a panicked sound. The side of his head had grazed your breasts and the back of the hand holding your towel when he shifted on his knees. The light touch was clearly accidental, but still molten lava shot through you like a rocket on fire.

Intrusive thoughts of him kneeling before you in another context caused you to choke on your saliva. You tried so hard to clear your throat subtly but an embarrassing wheezing sound still managed to escape. Add insult to injury, the infuriating man had to pat your back when your body wracked with coughs.

You weren’t proud that you told him to fuck right off when he finally got the door open. You ignored his sarcastic ‘You’re welcome, luv” and slammed the door in his smug face. 

That was nearly two years ago and the start of your vendetta against the irritating neighbor.

Per usual, he finds you just outside your doorway causing a scene. This time, you’re being clung to by your now ex-fiancés mistress.

Madelyn’s wails are loud, keening things that are razor sharp against your eardrums. Her tearful pleading is loud enough for you to miss the ding of the elevator as it stops on your floor. 

Kyle strides from the lift like a living bronzed Adonis. 

With gritted teeth you curse every deity known to mankind.

Wonderful. Truly, amazing actually!

He’s clearly coming back from a run, His arms are comically large and gleaming with a thin layer of sweat on his brown skin. You’re able to make out the intricate tattooed shield containing the numbers ‘141’ on his bicep. It’s the first you’d seen of it (not that you were keeping an eye out for it before). 

His sleeveless jumper is damp and half zipped to show off a view of his firm pectorals and the first row of his 6-pack. You’re about to peek lower to his loose gym shorts when he catches your stray perusal and raises a singular brow.

“Everything alright, love?”

“Just peachy, Kyle, thank you.” you snipe in a clipped tone. “Please feel free to run along.”

Your snarky dismissal is prickly enough that most people would call you a cunt but would blessedly sod off. 

The disgustingly fit nuisance just removes his headphones from around the cartilage of his ears and continues to linger just outside his door with crossed arms. Behind Madelyn’s trembling back you make a harried shoo-ing gesture. It’s meant to somehow relay that you had everything under control. 

You did not of course, but the last thing you could stand right now is Kyle fucking Garrick in the mix of this shit-show. No matter how angelic the bastard looked in the dim lighting of the hallway, he had an uncanny ability to piss on all of your emotional reserves. 

“Siggy!” Madelyn’s blubbering cuts off Kyle's next words. “I’m so, SO sorry!” She immediately descends into another fit of sobs against your cleavage. 

There’s a bit of an awkward lull when Kyle snorts out a laugh.“You think she can breathe in there?”

With closed eyes you lean your head back to look at the ceiling, shooting a ‘fuck you very much’ to the universe. 

You’d come home 20 minutes prior with murderous miasma cloaking you like a second skin. After being publicly dumped (without even the comfort of sweets to soothe the humiliation) you’d gone straight back to work just to deal with piles upon piles of paperwork. 

Your only reprieve was Hugo’s mother canceling her standing appointment with you. You’d still been forced to work with the old woman’s assistant and to your disdain, he was just as persnickety as his employer.

By the time you’d made it home on aching feet and a splitting headache your thoughts were filled with the desire to stuff yourself with a big fat American cheeseburger. Specifically one from the shady shop around the corner that you suspect may be a mafia front. They made damn good cheeseburgers though. 

Your mind had then of course wondered to the possibility of being caught up in a police raid and if ‘wanting to support local business’ be a good enough excuse to get you off the hook.

It’s how you missed the pint sized ambush lying in wait for you.

Madelyn had been planted outside your door in electric pink spandex and light up sneakers. She’d spotted you coming out of the lift and attached herself onto you before you could make a proper run for it.

Since then you’d been stuck holding her instead of the greasy end of a heart attack masquerading as a sandwich. Fat tears continue to wet the collar of the fleece outer coat you’d nabbed at a bargain sale.

“How long has she been like this?” Kyle asks with a raised brow.

Ignoring him, you do your best to wrestle Madelyn’s stiff form back enough to meet her eyes. 

The younger girl’s face is red and splotchy, snot and mascara darkened tears stain her usually fair skin. Her mousy brown hair could use a wash as well but you aren’t unkind enough to point it out. Even though she did shag your husband to be, it was clear the girl was torturing herself with guilt.

It is a bit unfair that the smudged makeup does nothing to detract from her beauty, much to your petty disdain. 

She’d make gorgeous babies with Hugo…

The thought makes you scowl. It was time to make a retreat.

“Madelyn, I’d really like to get into my flat. I don’t want to speak to you to be honest and I need you to let me go.”

More helpless wailing comes out of the younger woman.

“P-Please Siggy, I just need you to know I never meant for this to happen! Hugo and I tried to keep away from each other and I don't want you to hate me or the b-baby!” By the end she’s blubbering herself into hyperventilation. 

From the corner of your eyes you can make out the door of your neighbor adjacent to you crack open. Whipping your neck to get a look at the nosy pissant gets the older woman to slam the door closed with a fearful squeak. 

This had gone on too long.

Forcibly you use your hip and extra weight to maneuver the hysterical woman from your person. You hold her flailing arms to prevent her from launching herself back to your front. When she whines you’ve finally reached your breaking point.

“For fucks sake, you’re making a bloody scene!” You bark out, “I don’t care about Hugo!”

Madelyn flinches.

“But you care that we’re having a baby, right?”

It’s only when Madelyn lets out a whine of pain that you notice you’d been holding her thin wrists in a vice-like grip.

A forgotten Kyle chooses that moment to slink closer, his hands cup Madelyn’s shoulder carefully, despite your death glare.

“Maddy, darling, why don’t you let go for me.”

The brunette woman startles having finally noticed his presence in the vicinity. 

“Oh, Kyle! I didn’t know you were here!” It’s insulting how quickly she wriggles from your hold to catapult herself into Kyle’s waiting arms. 

With disgust you watch Kyle pat the shorter woman’s hair much like one would do a pet. Something about watching him with her makes your hackles rise farther.

“Why don’t you come in and calm down, hm? I’ll make you that tea you like and we can watch something.” Kyle makes a humming noise meant to soothe. It pisses you off but seems to work like a charm.

Madelyn’s sniffles subside dramatically and she rubs her hand across her button nose.

“Yes, that does sound lovely, but I need to talk to Siggy...”

You flinch as the two turn towards you once more. Kyle must see the cornered look in your eyes because he rubs his hands along Madelyn’s shoulders and whispers something in her ear. 

Madelyn nods and enters Kyle’s flat without any further hesitation.

It’s like the nearly thirty minutes of being held hostage outside your own home means nothing against his soft words.

God, you hate this man with every fiber of your being.

With a scowl you rummage through your bag for your house keys. Why did you have so many gum wrappers inside? You really need to clean your bag out. 

It’s not until you hear a throat clear that you realize Kyle still watches you from the threshold of his home.

“What?” Your tone makes a muscle in his cheek twitch. You hate to say it but it satisfies you to know at least you have some effect on him.

“Are you alright, love?” 

That causes you to abandon your search. You squint at his open expression and the genuine concern you see there. It’s unexpected and makes you a bit uncomfortable. How pathetic did you look that even your enemies pity you?

“I’m fine. Not like you actually care anyways.”

The last part was said in a mumble but Kyle’s sharp ears catch it. 

“Oy, what is that supposed to mean?” He steps closer to you crowding your space. 

Your senses are bombarded by the heady scent of the bergamot and cedar wood notes in his cologne. Coupled with the tangy smell of his natural musk, your brain does that thing where it shuts off and reboots itself.

“Siggy.” Kyle reaches out to touch your arm sending an electric current between you two that causes you to jolt back. He frowns, stepping closer, crowding you before you wield your bag in front of you like a shield and sword. 

“Garrick, I really, really don’t want to talk right now.” 

“Sig-”

“No, no, no! I don’t want to hear it! I’ve had a shite day and the cause of it is currently waiting for tea and cakes in your flat! I’m the one that deserves bloody tea and cakes for fucks sake!”

Enraged, you shove your hand through your bag and come in contact with the puff ball attached to your keys. 

You’re frantically unlocking your door and shoving inside your home, refusing to give the universe another moment to make a mess of your ruined day.

You look at Kyle as he stands in utter confusion and give him the dirtiest look in your arsenal. 

“Cheers, I hope you enjoy your sweets with Madelyn but you can piss right off, Kyle!” 

You slam the door with finality.

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[amphitriteswife]

💚marry me!💜

For @rorlokiswifey

Sigyn mentioned in this post is from @mizz-sea-nymph

Lil angsty but it gonna be okii

Tagging: @praisethesuuun @nicasdreamer @swallowtail-lotus @tinyy-tea-cup @jonquilclegane

Walking up the steps of Valhalla you tried your best to ignore the Nordic god floating above you. He had been pestering you for some years now. Why? Because he proposed, after he only knew you for 1 month. His words were that he could already sense you were the one. Ofcourse that was a lie and he immediately went to the fates to see if you would be his partner. Typical of Loki. ‘Comeeee ooonnnnn~’ Loki whined at you, still floating and following you even if he was supposed to attend the meeting with the other gods. You ignored his whining and finished walking the steps, entering the green house. He just sulked and closed his eyes, murmuring to himself.

In the green house you searched for some flowers you had to attend to on request of Idunn, who also needed to attend the meeting that Loki skipped. Wondering why you couldn’t hear the exaggerated whines and complaints of the trickster god you turned to find him outside the house still floating and murmuring with his eyes closed, he was floating with his face turned to the sky and his hands behind his head. His hair messy because of all the turning and moving. However, he wasn’t looking at where ye was floating and he was getting closer and closer to the glass. As a sign to hopefully make him aware of what he was doing, you ticked on the glass. But he was too caught up in his childish sulking to realize and then bumped his head into the glass which resulted in him falling to the ground on his back with a loud ‘Thump’ and a breathy but screeching ‘OUCH!’

This made you burst out laughing. It’s such a Loki thing to do that would never happen to anyone else which only made it even funnier. ‘H-HEY! IT’S NOT FUNNY! DON’T LAUGH AT YOUR FIANCE!’ Loki spurted out, embarrassment mixed with irritation and a pinch of humiliation. He quickly got up and clenched his hands when you still laughed at him, feeling more humiliated now but also kind of relieved he was able to make you laugh after you ignored him. ‘I’m not your fiancé, Loki.’ You told him a clearly. You hadn’t even accepted his proposal. Not that you would if you’ll be honest, but you’re not going to tell him that. Loki seemed a bit disheartened by your answer. It was no surprise that he really wanted to be with you, but he hated getting rejected like this. It hurt. And hurt is not something he experienced at often which only confused him and the way he should handle his feelings.

‘…why not, Siggy?’ He asked you a little more seriously now, trying to mask his disheartened and difficult acceptance. He isn’t one to take no for an answer and would push until he gets what he wants. That’s how he is and always had been. Though despite the mixed feelings of being married to him you couldn’t deny that the nickname he gave you was cute. ‘Well we don’t know each other that well, and you proposed to me 1 months after we knew each other. It’s all just so fast.’ Loki’s expression turned a little solemn at your words, but at the same time it also made him thought for a moment. Is he really pushing to hard? But he’s certain you’re the only one for him? Are you going to reject him? No! No way! It’ll be humiliating. Perhaps he should just play it as a long lasting prank… but it’s no secret that he does love you though. The scenarios in his head, the way he wanted to know more about you. He played it off as a crush before. But it’s so much more than that.

You couldn’t help but feel a little bad for saying that. He looked so sad… ‘come here.’ You said opening your arms for a hug, this seemed to make him feel a little better as he walked over to you and wrapped his arms around your middle, his head was on your shoulder and he seemed to still be deep in thought. Even though his body was bent because of the hug, you could see his muscular shoulder a little slumped down. It was kind of amusing that he assumed you didn’t like him just because you refused the proposal. It didn’t mean you didn’t love him, just that you didn’t want to marry. ‘You do realize that i’d rather be your girlfriend first than actually marrying right away right?’ You asked him patting his back, this made him a bit stunned… you wanted to his girlfriend…you. Wanted to be his. His girlfriend. GIRLFRIEND?!!! His expression turned into one of happiness and excitement, but before he could say anything he choked on his own spit which caused you to laugh.

‘So…you’re my girlfriend now?’ Loki asked you, seemingly still needing time to process it. He did have a smile on his face and hugged you tightly. He seemed very happy, his cheeks slightly red and he seemed a little flustered. ‘Well, yeah! You’re cool with that?’ You asked him patting his back as he hugged you even more and placed a kiss on your cheek. ‘YIPPEE’

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~

Thank you for reading! 🩵🤍

[classicanalyzer]

Fallout Series Thoughts and Reflection

"Everyone wants to save the world. They just...disagree on how." Maximus

It's one day until one month since this amazing series was released and I have a lot to talk about Fallout!

A Vault Dweller (Lucy MacLean), a Brotherhood Squire (Maximus), a Ghoul Bounty Hunter (Once a human called Cooper Howard)...and a dog (Dogmeat) travel the Wasteland in pursuit of their goals. In doing so, all four will change the Wasteland for better or worse, and discover more sinister secrets. And as Siggi Wilzig, an Enclave defector, asks Lucy in their first encounter,

"Question is will you still want the same things......when you have become a different animal altogether." Siggi Wilzig

The opening (The End) was perfect. The tension reminds me a lot of TLOU’s opening. We look into the eternal 50s culture United States in the 2070s. Cooper's reaction to the first bomb dropping is just acting perfectly. He at first tries to assure his daughter, Janey, that it's just a fire...only to see the smoke turn into a mushroom cloud. His reaction then just turns into one of pure horror that conveys how this is the end of society. That shot of him and Janey looking at the mushroom cloud and the ignorant American families watching TV says everything. As the rich family hides out in their bunker (the father punching his friend which is a foreshadowing moment of humanity's desperation for self-preservation), we see Cooper and Janey ride on their horse as Lose Angelos is bombarded with the title card popping up (Each episode has a unique variation of the title card based on what's going on).

The show captures the dark comedy and the satire of 50s America, Capitalism, and the Cold War. When Wilzig talked about how the cyanide pill (which tasted like bananas too!) was the most humane product Vault-Tec ever made (it really is), that was Fallout humor alright. We even have a pre-war bit where Sebastion Lesie sold his vocal rights to RobCo for their Mr. Handy bots for around $186 (I know it could be 186 thousand but I love the possibility he only got literally 186 dollars). Another is when the "execution" of Lucy by the inhabitants of Vault 4 which was very elaborate to set up death by beheading... turns out out to be death to the surface (as the Overseer is trying horribly to cut off the rope). A funny meta joke is how the teaser joker poked about Amazon Prime being the company with 2-day shipping in the teaser trailer. Then the show was released 2 days earlier than its stated release date (The show came out on April 10th, 6 PM PST when its original release date was April 12th).

"The future, my friend, is products. You're a product. I'm a product. The end of the world is a product." Sebastian Leslie

The attention to detail in this show is also amazing. In the first episode, the radio mentions the President not present at the White House. That follows the lore of the President moving to the Poseidon Oil Rig. I also love how in Episode 2, Maximus mentions Tidus' Power Armor having Tempered Lining and Lucy brought it up too in Episode 5. In Episode 8, The Ghoul mentioned the weakness of the Power Armor suit just below the chestplate. It further explains why Maximus didn't die to the Ghoul since the Ghoul was trying to aim for that but due to that modification, Maximus was able to survive. They also brought back the hacking mini-game when Norman was hacking into the Overseer's computer.

There's also the question of how to rebuild humanity. Each faction (Vault-Tec, NCR, BoS, Enclave) has its own vision for the Wasteland. Maximus perfectly described the setting perfectly well in his quote at the top.

Lucy’s (Positive Karma) naivety and optimism really show her as the heart of our main trio. Even by the end where she gained a lot of cynicism, it’s still her underneath it. I also appreciate her character so much when she doesn’t follow the “character’s bond with another is broken because they lied” trope. I like how the folks of the Wasteland can't stand Vault Dwellers because of their nativity, self-centered attitude, and how it was really for the rich and privileged who could afford to go to a Vault. However, she proves herself to be an earnest character who truly wants to make the Wasteland a better place, and adapts to survive... but doesn't lose sight of who she is unlike the Ghoul. I cannot wait to see how S2 takes her character. Her relationship with Maximus is also pretty sweet as they both help each other out and bring out the best in each other.

"I just doused an innocent man's face with acid, and I've only been up here two weeks. The wasteland sucks." Lucy MacLean

Maximus’ (Neutral Karma) character development was nice to see. He still has a long way to go but he’s starting to understand what being a “hero” is about rather than just having physical power. A hero knows to sacrifice your desires (The Power Armor) to help others (giving back the fusion core). He wants a life beyond the Brotherhood and is clearly disillusioned with the organization. When his friend thought he killed Moldaver and declared him a Knight, his face tells another story of how he felt about this.

The Ghoul (Evil Karma) may have been a cruel bounty hunter who believes in the worst of the Wasteland...but there are moments of his former self still inside. His taking a liking to Wilzig's dog (whom he eventually named Dogmeat) and granting his Ghoul friend Roger a mercy kill reveals there might be hope for him yet. His former self, Cooper Howard. is nothing like his current self. I love how the show made it clear he was once this human who couldn't initially bring himself to kill someone... even if it was for a movie! Even when he tries to initially deny the evils of Vault-Tec and buys into American Cold War propaganda, it's clear he still values his friends (even if they're supposedly "Communists") and eventually starts to really question what the hell is going on.

"I'm not a Communist, Mr. Howard. That's just a dirty word they use to describe people who aren't insane." Lee Moldaver

The reveal that Vault-Tec was responsible for dropping the first bomb (or at the very least planned to do so) was genuinely one of the most shocking bombshell reveals ever. You feel the nervous breakdown of Howard Cooper as he’s trying to process his own wife advocating this insane genocidal plan. I wonder if the shadow figure overseeing the meeting of the corporations is from the Enclave. I also really love the detail that Mr. House is the only one questioning the logistics and the proposal (Daily note that Mr. House is just as bad as everyone in this room, it's just that he sees less value in causing the end of the world). It shows why he decided to go against this insane conspiracy plan as we see the fruits of his preparations in New Vegas. I also love seeing Frederick Sinclair (Also New Vegas), the owner of the Sierra Madre Casino, Leon Von Felden (Fallout 1), the mad scientist behind the FEV and the Mariposa Military base, and Julia Masters, the chief financial officer of REPCONN Aerospace who sold out the company to RobCo.

"It's a fun idea. There's a lot of earning potential with the end of the world. But we're talking about making a significant investment based on a hypothetical. How can you guarantee results?" Robert House

"By dropping the bomb ourselves." Barbara Howard

Moldaver is no saint (she did let raiders massacre Vault 33 and almost killed Lucy, her friend's daughter), and it shows how far the NCR has sunken to achieve its aims. However, a lot of her actions are based on the horrors and crimes against humanity she witnessed. She wanted to rectify them and give the Wasteland hope, no matter the cost. She had seen her failures to stop the old world from being destroyed, and she would not stop until she could make the Wasteland better, even if that meant the NCR not living to see that better world.

Lucy's quest to rescue her father is like a twisted Fallout 3 narrative where the Lone Wanderer's quest was to find their father. But instead of her father being a scientist who wants to further heal the Wasteland, her father is responsible for destroying one of the most developed nations post-war because they weren't Vault-Tec. It's also implied it might've been out of jealousy since the show hints that Moldaver and Rose MacLean were more than just friends.

The collapse of the NCR was something I knew would happen based on the state of it in NV, but the final nail in the coffin being at the hands of Vault-Tec was something I did not see coming. I love that the last action of the NCR Remnant was to restore Shady Sands's power with the cold-fusion reactor. Even when the NCR is gone, whatever arises from the NCR will not only do the job better but now benefit from infinite energy. This is in comparison to the US government whose last action was to nuke the world and for the Enclave, leave the American populace to die.

The West Coast of the Brotherhood took advantage of the NCR's collapse to reestablish itself and with the help of the East Coast's BoS, they're now the largest military presence in California. The final battle between them and the NCR Remnant is a mirror foil to an event mentioned in New Vegas with the Helios Power Plant. We see how Maximus grows disillusioned with how far the organization has fallen and its own Knights not being the heroes he looked up to, even his superior agrees about how the Brotherhood is not what it once was.

Vaults 31-33 may not have an extreme experiment as the other Vaults and in this case, Vault 4, but the experiment is still horrifying. Vault 32-33 are meant to be breeding pools for Vault 31, full of Vault-Tec personnel in cryogenic pods (which I think is how maybe Lee Moldaver survived), to create the "best" Vault-Tec personnel. Vault 4 is a vault where scientists govern the people...which went as well as you might expect (The experiments going berserk and the Vault Dwellers revolting). I also love how the Gulper we saw in Episode 4 is one of Vault 4's experiments (also explaining the human-like finders inside its mouth) and who also ate the Overseer. I wonder what Norman will do given how Bud puts in him a seemingly impossible situation.

Then there's the Enclave and the pre-war Corporations. The Enclave really only shows up for a flashback sequence for Wilzig but, interestingly, the show glosses over them. What interests me the most is that Wilzig knows about the Vaults 31-33 experiment and Lucy's full name. Obviously, the Enclave still has observations of the Vaults, but as I mentioned before, that shadow figure observing the corporate meeting might be them. Speaking of the Corporations, we see the results of unchecked Capitalism with no regulations in this franchise and this show. We see the insane troll logic that these mega corporations will win the "great game of capitalism" by outliving everyone. Mega corporations have no logic other than their insane troll logic that what matters is they survive regardless of who suffers or dies in the name of profits.

"So, the U.S. government has outsourced the survival of the human race to Vault-Tec. Vault-Tec is a private corporation that has a fiduciary responsibility to make money for its investors. And how does it make money? By selling vaults... The cattle ranchers are in charge, Coop." Charlie Whiteknife.

You can tell how much Nolan and his team love Fallout by the work they put into this show. They did such an amazing job that Tim Cain, one of the OG creators of Fallout, praised the hell out of this show for bringing Fallout to life. I cannot wait to see what S2 will bring us.

"War never changes." Barbara Howard and The Ghoul

[evyripley]

hello fellow alien fan... would you be at all interested in exchanging thoughts about this iconic film franchise? need to talk about it fr

Hello there! Thanks for reaching out. I have way too many thoughts about the franchise but feel free to DM me if you have specific questions as well.

It’s def my favorite franchise and the first film is tied at my first favorite movie (tied with Carol [2015]).

Ripley is obviously my favorite character but I adore every character in the original.

Love Aliens a lot and I have a soft spot for Alien 3 a lot.

I own the original three on VHS cause why not, I do a lot of artwork based on it, have WAY too much merch from it, have a tattoo from it, own the soundtrack as well, and just convinced my orchestra director to let us do the main theme from the first movie this spring for our concert! So yeah, you could say I understand your obsession.

My Alien Franchise hot take is that Clemens and Ripley (Alien 3) are a better couple than Hicks and Ripley (Aliens).

I’ve played the video game, of course, and it’s what helped me and my girlfriend really bond when we first met at music camp. She’s bought me way too many things from Alien, even making me an anniversary card with a Xenomorph drawing on the front!

I’m in love with Ellen Ripley and my crush on Sigourney Weaver is what first turned me onto the franchise so thanks, Siggy!

Anyways, I rambled but you asked for it! Let me know if you have any thoughts or other questions, I love talking about this topic!

Here are some of my alien franchise shenanigans

[thelreads]

I've been taking notes on the spypocalypse so I can keep my thoughts in order and actually I ended up noticing something:

First, a lot of other slice of life sitcoms don't have character development because they need to keep the characters the same for the format. But as a result the characters can end up feeling stale because they don't develop and thus the creators fall back constantly on the same jokes. But what I like about spy x family is that the characters are slowly growing, even if that means sacrificing the jokes. Like, Endo is letting Anya slowly get better at studying and Yor slowly get better at cooking, so even though we still have jokes about how Anya is not the best at school or that Loid is a better cook than Yor, we also get to move past it so the jokes don't become old.

Second, in other manga that have serious and funny moments, I find that there isn't often a lot of crossover, character-development wise. Like, in SxF, Fiona running off to the mountains to train in tennis is a gag... And then it saves her life during the mole arc. Likewise, there's gags about Yuri being indestructible because of Yor, and then during the Yuri v. Twilight showdown he is actually really able to keep getting up.

So that probably means that the next time Twilight and Yuri go up against each other, we'll see a return of Yor-fu.

And last thing: even though there haven't been a lot of chapters that let us see it, I think Yor is definitely getting a lot more feelings for Loid. When she first moved in, Yor didn't even know if she and Loid would be sleeping in the same room. She was a bit bashful around him, but it was really only when she was super drunk that she went tomato-face mode (when Yuri told her to kiss Loid, when Loid tried to honey trap her, and then later the welcome home kiss). However, when they went to the murder ski lodge, even though she was completely sober and Anya and Bond were *right there*, she went super blushing flustered mode at the idea of sleeping in the same room as Loid. Ah, yeah, it's all coming together.

Ok for real last thing: also I think the reason why Sigmund's tutoring worked better than Yuri or Loid's is because those two focus on one thing and get through it. They're both determinators who have no problem with snapping into focus on one thing at a time. Meanwhile Anya's mind has a tendency to wander. However, look at how Sigmund deals with it: when Anya turns Yuri's "whole enchilada" into the "swole Chihuahua", Yuri tells her to forget it and go back to focusing on the grammar. But when Anya takes Sigmund's "eureka" and turns it into "eucalyptus", Sigmund encourages her ("oh, you know so much about koalas! You'll ace your biology test!" And she may not have gotten a Stella star for it, but given that her only bolt was from math, she at least passed her bio quiz). Sigmund works with her wandering train of thought while gently pushing her back to the task at hand. Anya is a force of nature who conquers all in her way; Twilight and Yuri don't stand a chance trying to fight against her head on, but Grandpa Siggy knows how to work with the Lord of Storms.

Grandpa's are great, I'm gonna be so sad when it turns out Sigmund is a founding member of the Apple Project.

Oh, I like that slow development. It's so subtle and gradual you don't really notice it until something major happens and it all clicks together.

Yor is definitely getting more feelings. Yeah, she was not as embarrassed at first because she didn't really liked Twilight the way she does now. He was a handsome man and she was bashful, but now that she does like him like that, now that she's getting aware of her own feelings, oh now the fun begins...

And Sigmund there was definitely the right choice to teach Anya, and he does manage to get in her head because he has a lot of experience on the subject, he was a teacher for years, he understands the human brain because of his work as a researcher. Also because he knows how to handle test subjects from project apple after all.

[erzsebetrosztoczy]

saw your requests are open. If its not ignore this .

can u do AC Valhalla hytham x reader ? Maybe reader is evior sibling? And hytham is falling for them but is shy to confess . They fall in love and basim is like :

Amongst hidden ruins

I am so sorry for the long wait I was havig life and death situation with uni I didn't consider that would be there but I hope I can make it up to you by offering a 3 part slow burn?? Ya girl is trying I promise🙈🙉🙊

Pairing: Hytham x reader

Genre: fluff, awkward fluff, idiots in love

Warnings: none, except if you count me not knowing what im doing???

Note: Shy Hytham is canon to me, let he be nervous and giddy with his crush🤌❤️. Also, Basim with his wolf dad energy 100% supports his adopted son like "i teach you how to be an assassin, now i teach you how to rizz, boy" and Eivor finally can live through what Sigurd needed to, aka being the older sibling and they will quickly find out why Siggy has eyebags lmfaoo

Here's part 2

Being related to the leaders of the Raven Clan was not easy. Especially when it came to two battle-hardened brothers. From the dawn of your life, you had to have someone by your side to keep you from being "hurt." First came the cautionary orders of your father Styrbjörn, which you cannot remember unless it is from Tekla's evening stories. Taking in and raising a newborn baby with two troublemaker squirrels aged a lot on your fathers, even during the early winters of your lives. Then, as you were growing, Prince Sigurd's sense of duty began to surface, and who else could he begin directing, rebuking, and protecting than his youngest sibling. Most of your childhood thus consisted of tramping in your eldest brother's heels, holding his hand, and obeying when he forbade you something. And just when you thought your troubled years would cease to exist as you grew up, Eivor's pestration began.

"I'm just saying it doesn't hurt to call Randvi next time. More eyes see more, more blades cut more." Eivor continued as he dodged those who came across him, trying to catch up with you, who was trying to get rid of his brother with wide steps. You rolled your eyes grumbling as you picked up a bucket from the riverbank, heading towards the stables.

"Eivor, last time, I just went riding for an hour. To the neighboring fields. If you climbed up the top of the Longhouse you would have seen it!" You patted it over your shoulder as you trampled up the path of the settlement.

"Yes, but Tove reported that Saxon bandits are passing nearby lately and-" "Eivor, I don't need a nanny! I can defend myself. I might as well show you how good I am." You raised your voice a little harder than you wanted as you spun back, defiantly shouting into his face. Eivor backed up with wide open eyes, raising his arms to the surrender. 

"Hey, hey, you have no reason to yell at your brother, little one. I just want the best for you." Eivor's voice sounded suspiciously metallic, sarcastic. You knew he was almost certainly  taking your words half-heartedly.

"And if you want any good for yourself, you'd better shut your mouth before I stuff it with Gunnar's footcloth!" Your fingers and fists almost turned white from the effort you used to hold the bucket close to your chest – you had to concentrate very hard not to hit your brother's head with it.

"You talk like you have a chance to beat me." Eivor chuckled to himself in a pitiful grin.

"Listen here, you smartass, Sigurd entrusted you with the leadership of the Clan, not that some blister-headed—"

"I think it will be enough of spreading curses for today. Otherwise, Valka won't be able to make enough talismans for all of us if you keep going like this." In your big arguments, you didn't even notice that Randvi walked next to you. She looked at the two of you with a raised eyebrow. "Maybe a retreat would be good.”

"But Randvi, don't you hear that Eivor runs to me at the slightest crack of a stick to see if I'm still alive? Can't you see that even though I've had the same training as him in our childhood, he acts like I'm a defenseless baby? " You turned to Randvi in desperation, not even paying attention to the water, whether it would stay in your bucket or not.

Your sister in law looked back at you with a pursed mouth. Please, be the more mature one. Reflected in her gaze.

Why do you always have to take the shortcut, for the sake of peace?

You nodded with an annoyed sigh.

"Alright." You grunted in agreement turning back to Eivor, but your flaming stare could have almost scorched him. "Next time I'll tell someone to come with me when I leave home. Okay?"

Eivor's face softened, his eyes sparkling with joy as he grinned in satisfaction.

"Perfect, little sister." He almost sang it as he straightened his back and walked off as if he had done his job well.

"I'll drown him in Tekla's beer one day, you'll see." You fumed at Randvi as you watched with narrowed eyes your brother’s leave.

Randvi laughed hearing this, and patted your shoulder. "Don't be so angry with him, he really only wants good for you." She said apologetically, voice full with kindness.

"His desire for good crushes me. He suffocates me with his fear. No one could live that way." You answered defiantly, speaking from your heart. When will the moment finally come when you can live your life for yourself and no one else?

You sighed dejectedly, then lifted the wooden bucket to your side again. "..I'd better reload this." You muttered, then waved goodbye to Randvi and turned back towards the water.

It seemed to be a long day ahead of you. 

That night you felt like all the joy had been drained from you. Despite the feast, time passed grimly. Despite the music, singing and celebration, you couldn't cheer up - the meat felt tasteless in your mouth.

Since what happened in the morning, you didn't even want to see your brother, specifically for that reason you went to the other side of the longhouse, where you won't even accidentally come under Eivor's watchful eye.

You wondered what you should do to make your brother's overbearing subside.

"Is this seat up to take?" A question came to you behind your back. At first it crossed your mind that it could just be Eivor, that he can't even leave you alone while eating, but then you realized that the voice asking the question sounded much softer than your brother's thunderous one. 

You turned around and found yourself facing Hytham's slender figure. ​He wore his usual white caftan, but now the hood did not cover his lush brown curls. In the darkness, the light of the fire showed a deep brown iris of warm honey, his skin golden from the dancing embers.

It was as if the summer night itself was standing before you.

"For you I am gladly saying yes." You smiled with relief, motioning for him to take the seat beside you.

With a chuckle Hytham took a seat beside you and as he was settling, his shoulder and elbow rubbed against yours.

"Oh, sorry!" He gasped in fright, immediately pulling away from you, offering a decent distance.

"Ah, don't even  worry about it." You waved it away, turning to him. "And what's new in the office? Have you found anything recently with… Eivor, that would advance your research?" You asked, leaning on your elbows.

Hytham shone a timid smile towards you, shaking his head.

"I'm afraid I can't give you exciting news, there haven't been any new leads for weeks. Eivor has been too busy lately, taking care of the clan's affairs with the surrounding allies, to be thinking about that right now."

Pursing your lips, you pondered; your attention falling on the beer mug in your hand, you didn't even have time to notice the warm, longing look with which Hytham stole a glance at you. 

You couldn't notice it - but Basim did; from across, beside the fire. 

"And if I helped instead of Eivor? Trust me, I'm just as good at tracking as he is!" It came out of your mouth suddenly. The thought that you could finally break away from the prohibitions of your brother, from the small life of the settlement, had an invigorating effect on your soul.

"Uh…well…I don't know." Hytham was suddenly speechless, fidgeting shyly, glancing around the hall. "I don't think your brother would be happy if I took you."

"Eivor would only be happy if I was sitting on the shelf in his room until Ragnarök." You rolled your eyes, poking at your brother in annoyance. "Please Hytham! I promise I'll be of use to you!" Leaning closer to him, you betted your eyelashes so sweetly, gazing up at him in the hope that his heart softens for your request. 

But Hytham's heart no longer needed cunning tricks to seduce him.

An indescribable force has drawn him to you since his arrival in the North. The man stood mesmerized by your beauty and as the months went by, as he got to know your pure soul, bright mind, and sharp tongue more and more, he grew a great passion for your person.

Young fierce love or it was a heart-wrenching, bittersweet yearning;  he didn't know yet – Hytham was only certain of this: that your nearness filled him with hope and happiness.

And that was enough for him.

"I— I can  Basim when he might not need my help, and if he releases me, we can go…if you really want to, of course." He agreed with a warm smile on his face.

Sheepishness filled you under his penetrating gaze –  your heart pounded, and slowly the heat of the fire seemed cold compared to the warmth of your skin, as you could only look at your mug while blushing.

When did the young man from the far east start to interest you? When did you notice his charming smile and delightful gaze? How many times have you melted by his eloquence, gentle speech, patience or care? Why did you feel you could never tell Hytham this, because of Eivor? That your brother would definitely stand in your way, even if only for a spark of happiness.

Perhaps better at rest; to live unchanged; as in shame and regret.

"So be it, Hytham." You agreed, now in a much more subdued tone. "If you have come to an agreement with Basim, please tell me immediately!" You promised him as he bowed in agreement.

Maybe you were given a chance for a way out after all. Maybe you'll finally manage to break free from your brother's wings. Maybe if you start on this unknown path, you can find yourself in someone else's arms.

[capn-twitchery]

Let's go failure for Twitch and Torture for Grace

failure: What's your OC's greatest failure? Have they been able to move past it? Does anyone else know about it?

does getting the wrong memories and escaping alone instead of with other captives from the honey gardens count as a failure??? hm. they weren't entirely twitch at that point yet so maybe it doesn't count. plus it wasn't really their fault

so another big failure instead! ssea's sigil ridden eaten navigator! twitch met siggy back in their early piracy days & recruited him because he was a damn good navigator & twitch was curious about him. he's quiet but i think they got on well

it happens like it does in ssea: he's missing memories because of the correspondence tattoos, and when he asks his captain to help recover them, he feels so guilty about what he learns that he asks to be put on an island and forgotten forever.

but twitch had a better idea!

take him to kingeater's, surgically remove the bad correspondence sigils, cut in new sigils to make him forget what he doesn't need. they've seen something similar done before! and it means he doesn't need to leave for a miserable island. the ship's surgeon refuses to do it, but it's fine, twitch can do it themselves! it goes about as well as you could expect.

"The thing that follows you back to your ship is not the Navigator. But it has his skills, and his face (though the right half is blotted by the sprawling sigil). The crew edge away." [ssea ssource]

he's never quite the same after that, and neither is the crew as a whole. it takes a while for them to accept what happened (accept might be a strong word, though).

twitch keeps him around, of course, the weird shambling corpse of the guy who used to be their navigator,,,,they can't just throw him out after doing that to him. and he's still a damn good navigator

they were trying to help, in some way. in the weirdest way possible, but they were.

their other big regret is the ending of evolution. they think they made the best choice they could have-the naturalist didn't want to be the boatman. they couldn't have done that to him. so even if it ended in his weird, paradoxical nonexistence- letting him choose his own fate, in some kind of way, is the only thing that felt right to them

but fuck, do they miss him.

torture: Has your OC ever been tortured? Would your OC ever torture someone else?

and for grace...does torturing himself via guilt count-no, he's not been tortured! one tiny grace win, i think? 🎉

not that i know of, anyway. there's plenty of gaps in his timeline yet---

as for him torturing someone else...i don't think so? definitely not under any kind of normal circumstances. but i also don't feel like i can rule it out 100%. i don't know why though

whatever would cause that to happen, it'd have to be so, so extreme but i can't think of any specifics. that feels like something i'm gonna have to try and unpack at a later date, huh

asks from here!

[bravo4iscool]

i just can’t let siggy and bjorn go, i’m sorry😭 (this is a song fic btw🤪)

(bjorn ironside & siggy!reader - bigger person by lauren spencer smith)

tag list - @bumblebeesfromvenus @yazt09

(masterlist | join my tag list!)

REQUESTS/ASKS OPEN!!!

When you'd yell, I would stay silent

You never noticed I was quiet

I was taught that speaking up was talking back

you focus on a point behind your father as his voice rages through the room. you didn’t know what you did this time but he was pissed again and he let you know.

you’re quiet—as always—just hearing to him yell around, insulting you for things you had no power over. at some point you’d stopped listening to him, for your own good.

you’d made the mistake of talking back one time and that resulted in ripped out hair and a nasty bruise on your cheek. since then you refused to open your mouth when he yelled at you.

Always first to say I'm sorry

'Cause I wanted you to like me

And I thought that's what it took to make it last

“i’m sorry,” you mumble, head hung low as a bowl of porridge scatters through the hut. your eyes are fixed on the ground, you’re not daring to move. “i’ll do it better the next time.”

“you better do,” your father hisses, grabbing the braid at the back of your head. “can’t even make good food, can you? what is there that you can do, huh?” he spits in your face and you want to cry. but you knew you couldn’t. it would only make him angrier…

he storms out of the hut and you collapse on the floor. you never understood why he despised you so much. how was it your fault your mother left? what were you supposed to do? you were a baby, a few months old. she didn’t even want you.

you quietly sob while you massage your scalp. you did your best to be a good daughter, to do what you should but your father was making it hard. he barely paid attention to you and when he did he usually complained or demanded you to apologize.

and you did apologize. every time the same two words left your mouth. i’m sorry. you thought that maybe one that it would be enough and he’d finally recognise you as his daughter but deep down you knew that would never happen…

It's a lose-lose

That I don't choose

But you don't always choose the ones you love

you sit at the fire, watching as your father sleeps. he’s had one horn of ale too much and was now sleeping it off. you were happy he wasn’t too aggressive tonight…

there’s a small dagger in your hand and you know, you could use it. he was passed out. you could stand up and slide it across his throat, he wouldn’t notice but you couldn’t.

any person in the right mind would’ve left him already, no matter if he was your father or not but you couldn’t.

you loved him…

your uncle sigurd offered so many times to get you out of the house already but every time you declined. if you leave now your father would break. without a doubt. he was a broken man, held together by nothing but his anger.

I shouldn't have to be the bigger person

How come I have to break to keep us workin'?

It's always up to me

Even though it shouldn't be

I will take the blame the way you want me to

'Cause that's what I do for you

“who let the sheep gate open?” aslaug questions as he walked into the great hall. “all of the sheep are gone. we’re lucky if we can find them again!”

your head perks up from your table and you look at your step-grandmother. your eyes drift towards your father, knowing he was the last to check the sheep. you didn’t understand why he always did it, you had enough slaves but he wanted to do it anyways.

you can see his eyes dart around and that’s when you realize he was drunk when he last was at the shed. nowadays he was always drunk.

you take a sip of ale before you look at aslaug. “it was me,” you say. “i went to check on them and must’ve left the gate open…”

she sighs, “siggy… you know we have thralls for that.” her tone is scolding but the look in her eyes says otherwise. she knows how bjorn treats you and—just like sigurd—she tried to move you out of his hut but ragnar refused to let her act.

bjorn was a grown man, he’d said. he needs to live with the painful reminder that thorunn left him.

you loved your grandfather, you deeply loved him; he was an amazing man but sometimes you saw where your father got his bad character traits from.

“it won’t happen again,” you quickly promise, noticing the way your father looked at you. “it was a one time thing and—”

“quit the bullshit,” sigurd then suddenly said. “we all know it was bjorn.” your uncle rolls his eyes at his older brother.

your fathers jaw tenses and you already shrink in your stool. you weren’t sitting beside or across him but that wouldn’t stop him from standing up and dragging you away by your hair.

your father grumbles something before he wipes his mouth with his hand. “if siggy said she did it, then she did it,” he simply says, confining to eat his chicken.

beside you, sigurd groans. “i swear to the gods, you’re the most terrible father to roam this earth!” he plants his hands on the table and stands up. “why are you being like that, huh? are you a child?”

“sigurd—” aslaug warns but he doesn’t listen to her.

“siggy is doing everything in her power to get you to care for her, to love her and what do you do? you treat her like a fucking thrall!” you swallow as you look at your uncle. you knew he had a softer spot for you than your other uncles but you’ve never seen him stand up for you like that…

bjorn’s eyes snap towards his brother and he slowly puts his chicken leg down. “siggy and i are none of your business,” he hisses, the threat evident in his voice.

sigurd huffs, “oh but you are! do you think i don’t notice the way she flinches whenever one of us is near her—especially you? do you think i don’t notice the bruises that litter her skin?” sigurd’s eyes narrow and you can see his body start to slightly tremble. “do you think i don’t notice that?”

at the words of sigurd ragnar head slowly lifts. he’s kept himself out of the conversation so far, he always does but now sigurd and bjorn had their fathers attention.

“what is this about? bjorn, sigurd?” his voice is calm as he speaks and leans back in his chair. his eyes land on you. “siggy, what is sigurd talking about?”

you swallow and avert your gaze. you could t expose your father like that, could you? who knows what ragnar would do to him once he knew how bjorn was treating you…

“siggy,” your grandfather calls out again. “is it true what sigurd said?” the look in his eyes is soft, his whole attention fixed on you.

“i—” you start, your voice catching in your throat. you couldn’t lie, not to your grandfather… “it is true…” you quietly say, pressing your body into the chair, afraid that your father would leave his seat and drag you out by your hair.

ragnar slowly nods, his eyes trailing around the room before they land on his oldest son. “bjorn,” he says, his voice still calm and collected. “i want you to leave.”

your eyes widen and you stare at your grandfather. did he really just say that? you turn your head to look at sigurd who looked as equally shocked as you.

“what?”

ragnar sighs, “you heard me. i want you to leave. and don’t you dare come back before you’ve come back to your senses.” he stands up from his seat, his eyes fixed on his oldest son. “this is not how i raised you bjorn. this is not how i raised any of my children.”

bjorn huffs and shakes his head. “are you really gonna do this? i’m your best warrior!”

“maybe you are.” ragnar shrugs. “but i will not tolerate the way you’re behaving towards your daughter—my granddaughter!” his voice slightly raises. “you’re brining shame over our name.”

bjorn lets out another huff before he gets up from his stool, knocking it over. “if you say so. i’ll leave.” he stomps out of the great hall, not even looking back once.

you stare after your father, not quite believing what just happened. what the hell? you feel tears gather in your eyes and while they should be happy tears, they weren’t.

you get ripped out of your trance when you feel someone embracing you and you quickly realize it’s ragnar. “i’m so sorry,” he mumbles into your hair, pressing a kiss to you head. “if i had known i would’ve acted sooner…”

part two lol??

[randomnameless]

Okay I can see various fire emblem lords being big horseback riders and skilled in equestrian riding.

The jugral lords being into dressage, the hoshido nobles being into horse racing, I can see the tellius lords being into cross country, and show jumping being popular in Valencia.

Thoughts on horseback riding and fire emblem lords?

Oh!

It depends for the Jugdral Lords, if you mean Siggy, Eldie and Quan then yeah, maybe dressage was prevalent in their places, maybe just to show their mastery over their horses.

However, Seliph and Leif weren't raised in the same "environment", with Seliph wanting to emulate Shanan rather than his dad through Oifey lol

As for Leif, being on the run since age 4 sure didn't help him take riding lessons, even if I'm pretty sure Finn wanted to have that covered!

TFW both Hoshido and Nohr enjoy horse racing (tenma racing for Hoshido, they don't have pony classes, so most likely no pony in Hoshido?).

Imagine Elibe : Lycian Lords love cross-country and love participating in contests... but then Lyn's grandpa has the idea to bring a Sacaen golden horse to the contest, and it's a drama : Sacaen Golden Horse can cross rivers and forests with ease, it can jump to 10 meters with his rider.

Lord Caelin is thus banned from ever entering a cross country contest with his "foreign" horses - which raises a shitstorm because it's not cheating, and maybe the Lycian horses should be trained just like their Sacaen cousins as well - have you seen Lord Eliwood's horse?

Lord Caelin being overjoyed when his great-granddaughter Sue asked him to name her first horse and writing him letters about how his horse loves the Caelin carrots

Tellius nobles don't usually ride horses for war, but more as an demonstration of etiquette and for leisure.

However, duke Persis, cannot ride horses for shit - even if he lost his powers, his laguz instincts are still there to make him fall from any horse, but hopefully, Begnion Senators aren't expected to ride horses unless necessary (which might or not be the reason why he lent warp powder to Lekain and oversaw the development of warp staves).

Alm'n'Celica?

Rode the hell out of Grandpapa's Mycen horse when their were kids, hell, Mycen taught every kid in Ram Village how to ride a horse - not necessarily how to fight on horseback, but just, you know, how to "not fall" when sitting on a moving horse.

Zofian Nobles enjoy horse racing for the "noblest/purest" ones, the others help in the fields, but in Rigel they're more valued so put under less stress - and when their time come, they're also used for their meat.

Fodlan wise?

Adrestia being in dressage too - which utterly puzzles Faerghans who use their horses for war or to plow the fields that can be worked even in winter (aka not galatea lol) - and while Leicester also had a history with horse racing, its nobles, who want to emulate Adrestia, thinks it's vulgar and want to start the trend of dressage too.

Too bad for them, horse racing has such a massive following and is actually a not that ridiculous part of Leicester's economy in Gloucester's own territory that horses are still, mostly, used for racing.

For their part, full-blooded Nabateans, much like Lehran, cannot ride horses for shit. Let it be Seteth or Rhea, whenever they "sit" on a horse, they fall within seconds. Flayn hopefully can ride better than the rest of her fam, and back in the days, Saint Indech was a beast at Chariot Racing in the newly founded Adrestia : but given how Chariot Racing became highly political in Enbarr, Empress Fredegund III banned it in 354.

[ironwoman18]

Rather Be - Part 14

Chapter 14: The Manga Con

Anya and Yor went out to walk Bond while Loid cooked dinner. They already have some friends at the dogs’ park and while Anya played with Bond and other dogs, Yor was chatting with the owners.

“Mrs. Forger. I heard Anya loves Bondman so maybe this will be something she would like to go to” said a nice man to Yor, offering a brochure.

“Manga Con?” She read the paper “a convention full of activities, meet and greet with the writers of your favorite manga and even the actors of the most famous TV shows. From Thursday to Sunday” Yor finished reading and looked at her daughter and smiled “thank you very much. I will talk to my husband” 

Then they left and Yor made the wise decision of not telling her, if Anya were a normal child, but sadly she read her mind and knew about the convention and that there might be the voice actor of Bondman and the writer but, as always, she will need to act normal, as normal as she can, to not reveal her power.

Anya bit her tongue all the way to their house and thankfully the food was ready. Loid sent them to wash their hands then started to eat.

Yor was waiting to speak with him without Anya so the pink haired girl had to keep the secret. Bond could tell she was hiding something but maybe he will know later 

The dinner went by as normal as ever and while she brushed her teeth and changed Yor washed the dishes. Then Loid went to read her a story and he joined Yor in the living room.

There Yor made her move. She got out of her purse the brochure.

“Loid, look at this” she handed it to him. “one of the dogs' owners gave it to me when Anya and I walked Bond today” he started to read and with his quick reading ability hw finished in seconds but faked to read a bit longer.

“Manga Con?” He asked, confused “what's that?”

“It's a convention where fans of the manga and anime go to interact, buy stuffs from their favorite manga and there will be events like dressing up as their favorite character and win something” he nodded showing her that he understood, Yor continued “Anya had been a good girl all this month, doing her homework and getting better with her handwriting so maybe we can take her there” she said  looking at his face for any sign of disapproval but he just smiles.

“That's an excellent idea, Yor. I noticed that she is putting an extra effort in her homework and with Grandpa Siggy’s help she's getting better so I like your idea and we can let it clear that we are doing it because of her effort so you understand that, if she works hard then she will have a reward” 

“Exactly! That's what I thought. Like what I did with Yuri. He was doing all his homework and passing his exams so I brought him a new encyclopedia or something he liked” she smiled big remembering her brother's face when she did.

“Amazing, tomorrow we will tell her” he promised and they remained in the living room a bit longer just reading. Yor was happy because of her idea and Loid was proud that she was acting like an actual mom, which was excellent for his mission. That way everyone will never doubt her as a mother.

They went to sleep at eleven and the next morning while having breakfast, they told Anya who had to fake that she didn't know about it but her excitement was real.

At school she told Becky who doesn't seem excited but still was happy about her best friend having fun. Damian was a bit jealous because he knew that his father or mother would never take him to those events. They could say ‘it is too dangerous’ or ‘you should be more mature’. 

He didn't say anything but Anya could read his mind and felt bad for him, she looked at him in a way like saying ‘I’m sorry you have such strict parents’ which made him blush and stopped looking at him.

He still has in his mind what she told him about reading minds. Was she really doing it?... No, she must be faking it.

The days passed and Anya continued her good job so her dad didn't change his mind and Saturday morning arrived.

They had breakfast and left for the convention. The place was full of people wearing costumes or something from their favorite character.

Anya got excited and asked her mom for photos next to Bondman cosplayers, there other shows she liked but Bondman was her main show.

They stopped by a stand and bought a shirt and a pair of Bondman socks. She also got a color book and the manga she couldn't find which were the hotel saga, one that they haven't shown on the anime yet but maybe will be next season, there was also his past before turning into a spy so Anya bought both volumes.

There was a band playing anime covers and she was ready excited when they played her Bondman’s favorite opening.

Yor was happy for Anya and enjoyed it with her, Loid smiled as he watched her so happy. Operation Strix was important but these moments were worth having because those two were his team in order to complete the mission and keeping them happy was a must on his list.

The day finished with a cosplay contest and some words from the voice actor of Bondman which meant the world for Anya who nearly passed out.

They returned back home holding two bags of merchandise and a little girl sleeping in Loid’s arms.

OOooOOooOO

Short and nice. Hope you liked this. I might skip to Halloween or jump straight to New Year’s Eve but I want Yor and Loid to have their first real kiss before that. Maybe an event in between also I might do an AU in the Modern Time using the song Lover as an inspiration. I’m open to suggestions.

[wraithdance]

The Five Year Plan | Gaz x Reader

Note: F!Reader but no gendered terms in this chapter, Fat/Plus sized Reader, Reader is implied to be Black but can be read as WoC, Readers nickname is 'Siggy', there will be no y/n use Content warning: terrible grasp of british-isms, parental angst, sick parent (cancer), some reader backstory for storytelling purposes, talks of pregnancy and readers womb, fatphobia from a parent, food mentions. (lmk if I need to tag something else for filtering!!)

Chapter Three: Don't tell mum

It is an ungodly hour of the morning and you have a sugar hangover and a canopy bed full of empty wrappers.

You’d spent the night crying and cursing stupid posh, blond men with trust funds and selective sperm practices. Which then led you to curse even stupider, infuriating wankers with pretty brown eyes and smooth burnished skin.

(Also the perky twits the two species have tea and procreate with, but you’re trying to do a better job of showing unwavering solidarity with other women. Despite the present fuckery at hand that is.)

A brief glance in the mirror of your vanity reflects the deep dark circles under your eyes and the evidence of your emergency chocolate eclairs on the bodice of your moo-moo. The silk lined linen had been no match for the wild disarray of your hair during the night. You looked quite frightening really. You don’t even need to glance at the framed Olivia Pope photo on your nightstand to know your fictional icon would be utterly disgusted at the state of you.

This would not do.

Sitting up from your pillow you point an accusing finger to the wobbling lipped wretch in the mirror and take a deep steadying breath for fortitude.

"Tits up, buttercup! There's no crying in show business!" you bellow at the watery reflection firmly.

The wretch in the mirror looks no more enthusiastic than before.

Mentally you shrug. Sure the motto is not as an effective motivator as it is with the raspy American accent of your chain smoking paternal aunt, but still. It's the thought that counts! With shoulders back and head high you're determined to expel angst from your body like water off a duck's arse. You force your mouth into a semblance of a smile that doesn't reach your eyes and tumble-scooch out of the nest of blankets in the middle of your bed. 

It was Saturday and you had an overbearing mother to visit (and subsequently lie to). If you didn’t get it together she’d smell the bitter notes of ‘Eau de Failure’ wafting over you like a shark scenting blood in the water. So with that in mind, you prepare for war with a nice candle and the motivating sounds of a beloved global hero. 

“Breakup, shmake-up! Alexa, be a dear and play Chaka Khan, we need this show back on the road. Pronto!”

An incoming text comes in briefly interrupting your improvised rendition of ‘I’m Every Woman’ while you perform (lounge) in the tub. With suds scarily close to your face you squint at the message from your father with one eye.

> Nurses called, mums in a mood.

You scowl. To be frank there’s not a time as of late where your mum wasn’t in a mood. Waving an arm in the air to dispel the bubbles covering your hand, you type out a text back.

< Gobsmacked, truly. Send rating for level of risk in engaging the matriarch, Skipper.

The reply comes in seconds. You can imagine your tech averse father having already expected the request and having a reply at the ready. 

> Threat level five, Captain.

You scrunch your nose and make a whine of irritation. 

Bugger. The scale only went up to six. 

With a sigh you send a simple ‘Roger that’ and sink lower into the bathtub. It was probably best to add more bubbles and break out the epsom salts. You were going to need all the relaxation you could get.

An hour later you’re dressed and slathered in body butter, glistening like a plump glazed ham. 

Outside your flat you’re shifting your bag around to find the knock off sunglasses somewhere traversing at the bottom when the sound of the door across the wall causes you to tense. Kyle stands in his doorway shuffling with a small plastic bag in hand and a sheepish smile. He’s blinking sleep from his eyes and scrunching his face as if the light filtering in the drab hallway disturbs him greatly. 

Your gut clenches seeing the serene yellow glow cascading across his brown skin. (It wasn’t fair that even the sun was a biased ninny and painted the bane of your existence out to be an ethereal creature.)

You give him a look up and down that you hope is less awestruck and all venom. It’s hard not to get distracted by the low hang of his gray sweatpants and the compression shirt that encompasses his broad chest. 

Sweet blueberries, the man dressed like a common whore. 

Sniffing you turn your nose up at him, shoving your sunglasses on your face when you finally reach them.

“Garrick.”

He smiles wider despite your dry tone. “Good morning, love.” 

“Were you just standing there at the door waiting for me?”

Kyle gives you a flat look in return with slightly less chipper-ness. He shifts his arms to rest in a cross, the bag swinging from the crook of his elbow like a metronome. His biceps bulge in a way that makes you want to clutch your pearls. 

(Or bite him. Hard.)

“I wasn’t waiting at the door.” He’s not quite mocking the cadence of your voice but you still wonder if you could get away with braining him with your overstuffed bag.

“I just happened to be nearby and I know you always leave around this time on Saturdays.”

You roll your eyes. 

“So you were waiting at the door then. You know Garrick stalking is illegal in the UK. I would hope you’d know that being military and such.”

Kyle narrows his eyes into slits. His nostrils flare as his once bright smile turns sardonic, gravely affronted.  

“Don’t know if you’re always such a charm in the mornings, love, but like I said, wasn't waiting around.” He clips. You are incensed at the degree of excitement that shoots through you at his rare snark. 

(You make a mental note to have one of the cute nurses at mum’s care center check you over for possible head trauma.)

“Besides,” He gives you a pointed look. “You would know something about illegal acts considering you’re the one who got banned from the resident’s meetings for nicking the snacks.”

The gasp of offense you let out is involuntary. Morning Kyle was not only scandalously dressed but also very rude!

“I did not steal anything, Garrick, they were complimentary for the residents!” You snark haughtily, pushing your sunglasses up your nose with a manicured finger. “I happen to be a resident you know and I gave my compliments when I took them.”

Kyle lets out a bark of laughter. The sleep layered tenor makes your toes curl in your sensible slippers. 

Bugger he was pretty. 

“Is there something you need from me?” you ask when his laugh trickles off into chuckles.

Kyle sobers and shoots you a sheepish glance. “Ah yeah actually. I wanted to give you these.” 

Kyle maneuvers the bag off his arm and extends it to you. With an abundance of caution you accept the offering like one would handle a ticking bomb and peek inside. 

An assortment of moon cakes greets you at the bottom of the plastic. 

You can smell the crisp outer shell and the sweet red bean filling of the pastry signifying their freshness. You do the mental math in your head and realize he’d had to have been up at the crack of dawn to get in line for them at the shops around the way. 

The treats sold out in minutes and you very rarely got the opportunity to get them on your own during the season as you were prone to sleeping in.  

“What’s this for?” 

“It’s an apology.” He gives your bewildered look a self deprecating grimace. “I don’t know what the other night was about but I wanted to apologize for hurting your feelings.”

Okay, no. Can’t have any of that now. 

You straighten up and put your hands on your hips. Kyle’s eyes follow your movements, staring for longer than polite. You clear your throat and he looks away when you give him an eyebrow raise in return. 

“Firstly, Garrick, you didn’t hurt my feelings, don't insult me. I was just taken aback.” pausing in consideration you peer over the rim of your glasses at the man. “What exactly did Madelyn tell you?”

Kyle shifts, one side of his mouth twitching upwards bringing your attention to the facial scar on his cheek.

“Nothing, actually. Just a lot of crying and mumbling about some Hugo. I honestly thought she was talking about a dog before I realized it was some chap she's seeing.”

You hum. Interesting, really.

You’d been sure he’d known more than he’d let on or at the very least that Madelyn would prove to be the unsavory sort to spill the beans on the sister wife shuffle you’d been unwittingly involved in. 

A glance at your watch shows you that you’ve spent too much time dawdling. No need to ruffle mum’s feathers further.

“Well, this has been lovely, Garrick, but I have to cut out. Places to go, people to see and such.” You shake the bag in your hand in emphasis, “Thanks for the goodies. it ‘s very... Sweet of you.” 

“You’re welcome, love.”

You’re glad you thought to wear your shades, the smile he gives you is infused with satisfaction and warmth. (He really should be much more careful where he aims those things he’s liable to blind someone.)

With a twirl of your wrist you give Kyle a halfhearted wave goodbye. He watches you until the lift closes.

What a strange duck.

You find your father at his usual haunt within the oncology unit of the extended care center. 

“Step away from the vending machine, Skipper. I come bearing tastier morsels.”

You smile at his wide eyed panic as he turns to you with shoulders to his ears. He curses low and pulls you into a bear hug, tight enough that a passing nurse shushes you for the squawk you let out. Your father’s miserably dramatic groan vibrates throughout your own chest and he lets out a puff of air.

“You’ve gotta announce yourself kid, I nearly shit myself.”

With a laugh you poke a finger into his rib causing him to jerk away from you. “It’s shat, do try to act like a proper Brit won’t you? Besides what's the fun in announcing myself when I can catch you red handed doing something you shouldn’t. Mum will be pissed you’re wasting money on vending machine biscuits ya’ know.”

Your father gives you a droll look when you snatch his change and shove it in your own pocket. 

(Someone has to pay the child tax after all.)

“Shit or shat, same difference and you would be the one responsible for cleaning me up, brat. And, I’ve been divorced from your mother for nearly a decade so I don’t care what she won’t like. I'm a grown ass man, I’m not afraid of her.”

Your eyes roll so far to the back of your head you swear you can see your medulla. He was so full of it.

“Yeah? So, if I told you not to tell mum something you’re not going to do that thing where you blurt it out the second she looks at you?”

He puts a hand over his heart in reply. “Of course I wouldn’t say anything. I’m a little offended right now, when have I ever run off at the mouth.”

You stomp your feet in irritation. He didn’t get to play clueless!

“Literally all the time. You’re the reason she sent me to that awful boarding school for nicking one of your cigarettes! I’m still scared of nuns you know- stop laughing!”

Your father continues to chuckle and pats your face. When you swat his hand away the look he gives you is unimpressed and flippant.

“In my defense, you were thirteen and had no business smoking in the first place, much less skipping class to do it. I had to put fear into you so you didn’t come out a delinquent.” 

“By telling mum?” You quirk a brow.

“Course, what’s scarier?” He gives you a smug look, linking his arms in yours. You both set a pace down the hall in the direction of your mothers room. 

“Besides, I wouldn’t be a father if I hadn't done whatever it took, you were very rebellious and snotty at the time. But still, it worked out didn’t it? Got a cool nickname out of it. Siggy, the chain smoking lawyer.”

You start to glare at him but the word father makes you wince and he catches it. “What’s the look?”

“So about being a father,” you slow to a stop just outside your mothers door. You give the nurse at reception a tight smile and try to come up with a way to say the thing. 

“Hugo got someone pregnant.” 

It takes the old man some time for it to click. You watch his mind whir putting together the things you didn’t say. Finally he levels you with a smirk much like a cat who drank the cream would wear.

“No shit? Didn’t think he had the cojones for that, you’d kept them in your purse long enough.”

The look you give him is unimpressed, he snickers. How dreadful, you were being parented by a child. 

“Yes well,” you look away “according to him I wasn’t mother material and he dumped me for the other woman.”

Your father hums “Tragic that. Didn’t like him very much so I can’t say I’ll miss him. He send you off with something?”

He motions his head at the plastic bag you fiddled with subconsciously. With a snort you hand it over, watching his eyes light ups when he digs through its contents.

“No, gift from my neighbor.” you wait until he’s taken a moon cake out of its individual wrapping before leveling him a glare. “Under no circumstances are you allowed to tell mum that Hugo and I broke up.”

Your father shrugs off your concern with a wave. “Yup got it. Won’t hear a peep out of me about it.” He takes a big bite that sends pastry flecks over his shirt and you roll your eyes.

Facing the door to the hospital room you roll your shoulders back and prepare yourself mentally.

The sound of a wrapper crinkly disturbs whatever inner peace you search for in the universe.

“Please Siggy, I served with guys in the Navy with less seriousness going into battle.” 

Good grief.

“Eat your sweets please.” You cluck, “I need to meditate before I walk in there.”

Your father ha-rumps in reply but thankfully keeps quiet. When you feel some semblance of self control you shoot a look behind you.

“Remember not a single word!”

Your mother is propped against mounds of pillows. She looks every bit like a queen holding court despite the tubing and wires running along her body. Her sallow skin is grayish in tint, far from the myriad of browns you remember from your youth. 

Yet her scowl remains sharp and dagger-like in nature.

“Oh, how nice of you to show up. I thought this was your way of telling me you want me to die alone.”

Your father shoots you a look as he finishes off the cake. Threat level five indeed.

You smile at her sheepishly which only makes her glare more.

“I got tied up with my neighbor, sorry mum. I’m here now though. What’s been going on?” 

Your mother says nothing instead choosing to follow you with her eyes as you make your way to the armchair beside her bed. When you’re seated she sucks her teeth and looks you up and down before gesturing at your still standing father with her head. 

“Why did you bring this traitorous shadow on my doorstep, eh? I already have a sickness, why must you make me suffer more?”

Your father rolls his eyes before gesturing a thumb over his shoulder.

“Alright… glad we had this talk. I’ll just run to the cafeteria.” Your father turns tail and leaves without waiting for a reply. Your mother gives you a look.

“Wisdom chases your father but unfortunately he is faster.”

“Please, that’s mean, mum.” You ignore her brush off, “He comes to visit with me every weekend even when he doesn’t have to, maybe you should give him a break.” 

Your mother is silent, choosing to disregard your scolding by facing away and watching the drama playing out on the telly. You allow the dismissal, watching along with her and sharing occasional comments on the plot. 

During an advertisement break she folds her hands into her lap and shifts to get a good look at you.

“Are you pregnant yet?”

You jerk back into the cushions of the chair, “No!”

She frowns. “Why not, you are getting old? 

And here we go.

“Mum,” you start carefully, “You say this every time you see me and I have to remind you once more that I’m not old. It’s actually pretty rude, you know, to suggest I need a baby because I’m aging.”

She huffs adjusting the nasal cannula. You look at the IV in her thin hand and the feeling of wrongness makes your body vibrate with anxiety. 

She shouldn’t be here.

You don’t get a chance to think about it anymore when she leans over the railing of her bed to stare deep into your eyes.

“What’s happened to that Humphrey fellow, what is he saying about your empty womb?”

For fucks sake!

“It’s Hugo and he’s got nothing to say about my womb because it’s not his bloody-” you refuse to amend the curse when she swats at you with the hand closest to you, “it’s not his bloody business mother, I’m not a breeding mare!” 

She narrows her eyes, jaw working as she contemplates your tense shoulders. “Where is he?” 

You recoil. For. Fucks. Sake!

You try to look casual while sitting back in the armchair, your unseeing glaze pretending to be interested in the period piece that now plays on the in-unit television.

“He’s around or whatever. Doing fiancé things and all that jazz. Super happy. Great guy, truly the best.”

Your mother lets out a sharp ‘Ha!’ She calls your full name in the tone. The ‘I have birthed you and I will end you’ like filicide is her right as a mother, tone. You sink low into the chair.

“What, mother?”

“You are lying, I can tell. Where is Harold and what happened to your engagement? If you’ve run off another man I will cut you from my will.”

You snort humorlessly.

“Like I said Hugo is fine where he is. Besides you don’t have a will, I know because I oversee your legal paperwork and you refuse to sit down and draft one with me.”

She mumbles something unintelligible about everyone speaking death onto her when your father walks into the room with a cup of coffee.

You see the second your mother sets up a plan of attack and your father does too in the way he freezes in fear like a doe in the path of a wolf. 

“Where is the child’s husband-”

“He broke up with her!" He blurts with wide, dodgy eyes, "Got some girl pregnant and ran off.” 

He returns your disgusted look with a shrug. “Sorry, Siggy got nervous.”

Seriously, the man needed some backbone! He’s not even married to her any more! You’re opening your mouth to lay into him when your mother launches her own attack on you both.

“Do not call my child that awful name, you discombobulated fool!” you mouth the word ‘discombobulated’, the woman was creative with her insults, you’ll give her that.

“And you!” she wags her finger in your direction with a stiff lip, “You should be ashamed of yourself for lying to your own ailing mother. Quickly, how did you manage to run this one off? I am dying to hear it.”

Primly you sit up, adjusting the hem of your shirt around your tummy. Your time in court was much less daunting, to be honest, but you’re a believer in faking it until you make it.

“Mumsy, I didn’t run anyone off, thank you very much. In my defense he was a cheating oaf and he is free to do what he wants, it's no skin off my back.”

She laughs haughtily and it makes you feel awful. 

“He wouldn’t have left if you gave him children!”

The dark desire to mention that giving a man a child hadn’t worked out in her favor when you catch your father’s look. He shakes his head, knowing you well enough to pluck the vicious thought from your mind.

You swallow back the biting retort in defeat.

“Mum please. Hugo said he didn’t want kids right away” you mentally add the ‘children with you’ with a frown, “I believed him when he said it and that’s not something I should be punished for.”  

Your mother sits back in bed, raising her hands in the air in defeat. 

“Everyone else in the family has a grandchild or three!” She cuts her eyes at you, “Why was I the one cursed with a child who buys ugly bags instead of raising babies.”

The pit in your stomach grows as tears prickle your eyes. “My bags aren’t ugly and its very mean of you to suggest that.” you whimper dejectedly.

Your father takes a step and puts his hand on your shoulder.

“I think that’s enough, we should be comforting our child not being insulting. You didn’t like the man anyways so what's the issue?” 

Your mother just tuts and closes her eyes like she couldn’t be arsed to have you both in sight a moment longer.

“He was also a fool.” She opens one eye to peek at you, “Your cousin is expecting again by the way.”

So that's what this was about, you snort.

“Yes well, terrible for you to compare me to my underage cousin when she’s barely a teenager with her second child on the way. You know as well as I do the family was in a kerfuffle about it the first time!”

Your father hums in agreement, voicing his support (a little late after having caused this mess, but still.)

“You should be proud to have a kid who has degrees, a great career -an admittedly shit flat,” He ignores your sound of objection “but otherwise really fabulous things going on. Say something nice, please.”

Your mother sniffs “I’m getting older and who knows if this sickness takes me to glory. The child obviously wants me to die without a grandbaby.”

Your sigh is deep and loud in the room. You know for a fact she's bringing up her cancer to twist the knife in deeper. Yet you heard from her yourself that the doctors crowed about the progress of her health.

“Mum please don’t keep saying stuff like that. It really hurts my feelings because you know I love you and I wouldn’t know what to do without you.” 

You watch your mother fight to not soften with your admission. She doesn't look directly at you, glancing more in your general direction. You place a hand over hers on top of the covers, squeezing her fingers tight. The dull shine of her wedding band catches the light of the side table lamp. 

She squeezes your hand back and lifts it out from under yours to pat your fingers. You know it's the only form of apology you’ll get from her. She does ruin it though, moments after.

“Your wrists are like sausage casings, have you gotten bigger?”

Yes well, that was your sign that it was time to go.

“Well lovely as always to see you mum,” you shift to a stand reaching for your bag at your feet and patting your father on the arm. “Think I’m going to pop out and consider my life choices and all.”

She tells you not to be cheeky when you kiss her cheek. She ignores your father’s goodbye  and continues on with watching her shows.

On the walk out front your father stops you from leaving. He lights up a cigarette, the cloying menthol aroma turning your stomach. 

(You never could pick one up again after that traumatizing moment in secondary school.)

Your father is quiet for some time, flicking the ash of his cigarette occasionally in deep thought. You don’t make an effort to break the silence, thinking of your own recollection of another successfully humiliating interaction with your mother. They’d been happening a lot more as of late and it was starting to wear a hole in your heart.

When you shuffle in place your father finally looks at you with a softened glint in his eye. He stumps out his ciggie and places a hand on your shoulder.

“You and your mother are just alike.”

Snorting, you look off to the darkening parking lot, settling your gaze on a flickering street lamp in the distance. You try to ignore the warbling view from behind the tears in your eyes.

“Wouldn’t let her hear that. I’m sure she’d pop her lid at the very suggestion.” You don’t mean to, but bitterness coats your tongue before you can stop yourself, “Poor, fat, pathetic Siggy mucking her perfect plans up as always.”

Your father shoots you a warning glance, not liking your tone or the self deprecation dripping from your mouth. Being under his steel gaze makes you feel childish but you refuse to show it, meeting his look head on.

Because like it or not it was the truth. Whether she said it outright she wasn’t satisfied with your person.

You’d grown up always being on the wrong end of your mothers ire. No matter how hard you tried otherwise. But there wasn’t an excellent mark you could get, a partner you could bring home, or even a diet you could go on. You were always just… lacking.

Your father sighs in the night.

“You’re just as hard headed as her, you know that? Just as quick to cut down an idea that doesn’t fit your vision.”

Catching the defeated slump of your shoulders he calls your name. When you don’t look at him he tucks a finger beneath your chin forcing you to meet his gaze. Love and sadness sit on his weathered skin like a cloak. 

“It’s not a bad thing, Captain. I know being all brass and bull dick helps you at that fancy ass firm of yours but it keeps you from smelling the roses from time to time.”

You wrinkle your nose at the crassness, not sure how to take being compared to bulls testicles. He continues on.

“You also got her flare for dramatics and her ambitious nature. It’s why you two have been butting heads since you could set up and talk.”

Whoa, not the case!

“She butts heads with me!” You cry out, “I don’t know what I could possibly be doing to trigger her but I’m exhausted figuring it out. I just want-“

The lump in your throat stops you and you take a shaky breath. 

“I just want her to be on my side for once? Instead of being worried about me embarrassing her in front of the family.”

He gives you a sad smile.

“She’s just scared. Been on the wrong end of the hyenas before, I think she tries to nag you into submission in hopes she can spare you half the pain.”

That you can’t help but give an unbelieving look to.

“Please she acts like the head hyena most days. It’s hard to believe she’s ever been judged the way she judges me.”

Your father hums humorlessly, wrapping an arm over your shoulder to smush you into his side.

“You’d be surprised. She’d gut me, then stuff me over the mantle for saying it, but I have it on good authority that she’s on thin ice with her side of the family as well.”

You sniffle past the tears on your lashes, blinking to peer at him. “Well don’t leave me in suspense, old man. What’s the story behind that?”

Your father chuffs and flicks the tip of your nose, you whine rubbing the sore spot left behind. 

“I got your old man alright, you little shit.” He laughs boisterously, “They’re pissed she dared marry me, an American. Then by doing me the honor of birthing you, the most loving, headstrong tornado of a child a man can ask for, despite their objections.”

The forehead kiss he plants on you brings more watery fluid to your eyes. You hide the emotion by frowning and pretending to wipe off imaginary residue from your forehead.

“I’m not following.” You snark flatly. It earns you a pinch.

“They’re pissed she went against them then had the nerve to agree to divorce me when it was all said and done. That’s on top of inconveniencing them by getting sick. Your mum’s been on the chopping block far longer than you’ve been and the pressure is getting to her.”

He lets out a long suffering sigh and you imagine he’s reliving the hard years that came about after the divorce. The constant yelling and coldness within your childhood home still sends ice down your spine. Your father notices the resulting shiver and rubs your arm to provide warmth into your limbs.

“Despite our differences, I know your mum is just worried you’ll face the same treatment she did when she went and ran off with me, the ‘no good American’ while on vacation.”

You sigh, still not really understanding. It was definitely unfortunate their treatment of your parents' marriage. You’d witnessed it in the slick remarks of your aunties and the other elders over the years. 

Your father had done what he could to shield you from figuring out his ostracism up until he’d asked your mother for a divorce. 

It wasn’t fair to either of them that the family was so caught up in outdated traditions to see your parents had loved each other once. But you couldn’t live like this and you say so.

“You said it yourself, you've been divorced for ages. It’s not fair that she puts so much pressure on me when I don’t give a damn about what they say. I’ve never amounted to anything they want and I refuse to exhaust myself trying to meet her expectations.”

Your father nods in agreement.

“That’s valid, Siggy. Ultimately I just want you to make your own path. I’ll talk to her about laying off, promise.” He cocks his head and squints at you. 

“What?” You give him a worried perusal.

“Are you still mad that I spilled the beans about the fiancé situation?”

You laugh, pinching him around the middle. “I’m still very upset actually. You sold me out so quickly, it’s like you didn’t even try!”

He shrugs shamelessly. “It was me or you. I had to put myself first in the end.”

You roll your eyes and enjoy the swaying hug he keeps you in. After some time he speaks, peering at you.

“Your little friend Blue is right, by the way, that Hugo man does look like a chihuahua.”

“Dad, please.” 

“I’m just saying, Captain, might have gotten lucky after all. wouldn’t want you to go off and birth a litter of pups with a french accent.”

Your resulting cackle echoes loudly into the night.

A/N lol sorry for taking forever for an update and all the parental angst lmao. If you can’t tell I suffer from mommy issues and I was avoiding writing this chapter. Excited, next part the good shit begins :’D

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[sapphicdib]

hey random thought but I was looking at the overseer description on the rain world wiki and it said that the green overseers only spawn in outer expanse and subterranean and that got me thinking

unlike spearmaster who had srs watching over them through the red overseer (until pebbles zap it outta existence) Hunter didn’t have any overseer watching over them

That means that Nsh wouldn’t know for sure if Hunter succeed in the mission because Hunter never made it back home, either succumbing to the rot or passing on through the void sea and Siggy wasn’t watching his cat unlike Suns

Nsh probably thought that once Moon wakes up, she could message the entire local group again however, Moon’s collapse left her in a state where she couldn’t communicate with the other iterators even after her revival

I mean, to cut slack for Nsh. Pebbles did put the entire region into lockdown (see five pebbles dialogue for when gourmand first enters the cann) so he probably couldn’t get in with Hunter but still

from Nsh’s perspective moon’s fate is uncertain. His hunter’s fate is uncertain.

Maybe he saw the little messenger going through subterranean which meant that Hunter probably succeeded. Maybe the last he has seen if his slugcat was before the Hunter entered the region and Hunter hasn’t returned home yet nor did Moon showed any signs of activity.

Maybe his plan worked and the keys were delivered. He wouldn’t know for sure…

basically all I’m saying is that Nsh feels like the person who would had definitely thrown more (hopefully non-cancerous) slugcats towards Moon instead of tossing Hunter and the angstiest option for why he didn’t was because he thought his plan fail as Hunter will never go home in the base game and Moon couldn’t communicate her revive

UGH YES!!! i hc that you can still see sig’s overseers sometimes in subterranean/outer expanse is because she’s still…well, desperately searching. at first for a sign of hunter, and then for a sign of moon when he realizes hunter’s probably not returning, or perhaps a way to get into the facility to see if his plan even worked.

part of the reason i think hunter was so sick is just because by the time sig made her, his facility wasn’t in the best shape, and he was rushing, desperate to save moon. in the note she sends her it literally says “excuse the unorthodox delivery method, equipment eroding etc etc”. i truly do not believe sig is “bad at making slugcats” or “didn’t follow suns’ instructions” because his dialogue PROVES THAT HE CAME UP WITH THE CONCEPT FIRST. (sorry that shit grinds my gears when ppl brush sig off as either stupid or malicious when it comes to hunter) because like…this mission is SO important to her. why the hell would he make hunter sick, therefore limiting her time to get to moon and possibly causing her death before she could reach her goal?

hunter’s last wish in the void sea is to be back in sig’s arms. if he were truly malicious/didn’t show respect for her messengers, why would hunter want to return? so yeah, seeing his overseer out in the outer expanse, searching for hunter or a sign of moon being alive just ;-;

i don’t rlly think she sent more messengers after that, mainly bc he knows any slugcats he makes after hunter will likely meet the same fate due to the erosion of her equipment/the fact he thinks “there will be nothing left of moon by the time one is ready”. sig just breaks my heart because she tried and tried and tried, reaching out as far as he could, and still never knew if his plan even worked. i’m gonna stop here bc if i keep talking i am going to be writing a goddamn essay that would be better than anything i ever turned in in university LMFAO i have so many goddamn Feelings about no significant harassment rain world.

also me n ghost are actually doing an rp that’s kind of like this lmfao, and in it the reason hunter gets sick is because sig basically works herself so hard she ends up damaging his structure and the sudden power failure/shutdown affects his experiments. (obviously that has no basis in canon and is more just us writing fanfiction about what could have possibly happened)

anyways after all that angst, here is a screenshot from my game where sig’s overseer showed up and sees moon bringing sluppy hunter home :’) in my dreams i can pretend she made it back LMFAO

[kakyogay]

TW: self harm (since in referencing the post with it)

Hey hiya hello can you tell us more about how much Suns is very healthy and sane and mentally well :) (curious to know how his loved ones are gonna respond when they inevitably find out, or just anything else youd like to share 👀)

Also you sneaky!! You alluded to it on his reference and it totally went over my head ahfohcooycyoco.

you're in luck because I was thinking about how they'd all find out and wrote down generally what happens. might full on write it out but idk I got a lot of other things spinning in my head at the moment

anyways here's pebs

here's moog (she basically becomes their therapist in the end)

and finally siggy

the others never really find out because around when sig finds out they had been getting help and doing much better than before.

[goddamnwebcomics]

The fact that Shitstain says "my slaves" automatically kills, murders, SLAUGHTERS any attempts of sympathy. Seriously, his brother is a better person than him, because he doesn't actually own slaves, and also he's supposed to be a character you hate, whereas Shitstain is constantly shown in sympathetic light. It should be the other way around honestly. The jerkass knight should be keeping Trace and others away from the other templars while the evil rapist slaveowner who's trying to fake a kind and nice demeanor is looking to capture Traceflorakeithnanami. I don't know, we haven't had a Siggy-coded character in a while.

Roderick even compliments Kathrin at the end, and decides to leave without checking the place. I guess he just doesn't want to explore the house of a slaveowner any deeper.

[gepgep2]

HB: Well, there are Yahwehs—just as I say there are seven versions at least of Jesus or Jesus Christ, or Jesus and Jesus Christ, in the Greek New Testament, there are innumerable versions of God in Tanakh, the Hebrew Bible, but the one who interests me and always has and always will, is the original one, the first Straha, traditionally called J or the Yahwist, probably written as early as the reign of Solomon, 3,000 years ago, in which most certainly he is as I say a stern imp, up to a lot of mischief, something of a trickster God—human all too human: he's always walking around on the ground; he isn't flying up in the air—he's walking around on the ground in order to make personal, you know, sort of on the job inspections of how things are going. He closes the door of the ark—of Noah's ark with his own hands; he even more memorably buries Moses in an unmarked grave, with his own hands; he is very fond of picnics; thus at Mamre he sits beneath the terapim trees because he always likes to be in the shade rather than the sun, thus he walks we are told in Eden in the cool of the day, at Mamre, with two of the Elohim who are his angels he sits beneath the terapim trees, and he has a sumptuous rather full-scale luncheon prepared by Sarah—roast veal and whey and freshly baked sort-of cakes. And how is one to put it—he on Sinai, on the side of Sinai, he sits there and shares a meal with 73 elders of Israel. They stare at him and he stares at them and that's it. He doesn't say a word and they don't say a word, but there he is. And according to Kabbalistic tradition, from the Merkavah thing on, he's enormous, he is I say the King Kong of deities, he is of enormous size.

LQ: What leads you to think of this God as more than an exceptional fiction?

HB: Well, his metaphysical density, his ferocious and vivid personality, his intensely human traits—I gather you're not going to eat that so I'm going to put it back in there—

LQ: One more bite.

HB: Go ahead, go ahead. He is . . . he is a . . . the reason why I keep invoking Shakespearean characters like King Lear, who is I think Shakespeare's version of Yahweh, or Hamlet, who has a very complex relation I think to Mark's Jesus, is that Yahweh, Mark's Jesus, Hamlet, King Lear, Falstaff, Cleopatra, Iago—they are all more real than you are, whoever you are, and yes, they are fictions, but if they're fictions, what are we? Since they are livelier than we are, exceed us in energy and in dynamism, as Yahweh does also. [...] he's quite a fiction, he's very persuasive and as I keep saying in the book I wish he would go away. I don't like him. I don't feel anybody can like him. His famous definition when Moses asks him his name—his famous self-definition is ehyeh asher ehyeh, translated by William Tyndale as "I am that I am" and that's kept in the Authorized Version of the English Bible. The Hebrew "ehyeh asher ehyeh" actually means "I will be, I will be;" "I will be that I will be," or to make it into better English "I will be present wherever and whenever I choose to be present," but I say throughout the book that also means "And I will be absent wherever and whenever I choose to be absent." And he is very distinguished by his absences, it seems to me. But if he is just a literary character—well first of all I don't recognize any distinction between literary and human characters; I mean I'm notorious for that, and why not be notorious for that—it seems to me that the sacred Bloomstaff, as I call him, is at least as real as old Bloom—Sir John Falstaff, of course. But not even kidding, I mean what can you say about the Yahweh of the J writer? He is endlessly memorable, he is endlessly unreliable. [Pause.] But he gets inside you. I repeat I would like him to go away, but he doesn't seem to go away.

LQ: Why doesn't he go away?

HB: Well, because I'm pretty sure he is our equivalent—I mean, our equivalent for him now is what our Uncle Siggy Freud called "reality testing" and the Reality Principle. Freud says that reality testing means that you have to "make friends with the necessity of dying."

LQ: So he's the name of everything that opposes our will.

HB: Yeah, he is . . . [...] But since I don't think there's any distinction whatsoever between sacred and secular texts, there's only great writing and bad writing (or good writing in between I suppose or fair writing) then it's natural to speak of—in fact, remember what Blake says; he says religion is just choosing forms of worship from poetic tales, and then he adds—this is The Marriage of Heaven and Hell — "Thus men forgot that all Deities reside in the human breast." But that doesn't mean that they don't reside there.